


Miss Me?

by SimplyShelbs16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, im still fuckin crying over my own story, post-TRF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Post-TRF. Whilst still taking down Moriarty's network, Sherlock loses himself in the last memories he shared with Molly before departing for his mission.





	Miss Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> this was written for mousedetective on tumblr (for the life of me, I can't remember your username on here.)
> 
> edit: nevermind, I figured it out lol

Twenty-two months. It had already been nearly two years of this torture. Sherlock sat upon his makeshift bed within a secret bunker in the middle of the woods. How much longer would he have to endure this wretched pain? He knew the answer: not until those he loved would be safe. Those very same people did not realize how much he cared, and it was because of this that made Sherlock wish he could be a bit more human—just enough to show them that. Especially Molly.

At the thought of her name, Sherlock buried his head in his hands. Just a couple of months in and he had already forgotten important details about her. But now, he couldn’t even conjure up her voice in his head the correct way. It was always off when he’d visit memories of her in his mind palace. It just went to show that even the most observant, absorbent people would soon forget the little things. How he longed to breathe in her sweet floral scent…or was it fruity? His brain felt scattered.

There was one memory of his that was still very much intact, and that was the last time he saw her. He was to stay at her flat until Mycroft’s randomized time of four-twenty eight in the morning, when he had left for his mission. He could still recall every word spoken, and every action taken. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock honed in on this memory, if only to remind himself of what he had waiting for him.

* * *

_He was stoic, sitting there on Molly’s bed. He couldn’t quite speak, let alone hear her words properly. What he did notice was the sound of the kettle whistling, and the smell of herbal tea leaves. What was it that she told him? Oh, yes, he was in shock. So, she sat him on her bed, and offered to make him some tea. A creak sounding from the floorboards notified him that she had entered the room._

_“I know things are difficult to process right now, but a nice warm cuppa should help you relax,” Molly assured him, handing over the mug. “My grandmother uses to say that nothing seems quite as bleak after a cup of tea.” She sat down beside him, obviously at a loss of what else she could possibly do._

_Sherlock lifted the mug to his lips, sipping tentatively. They sat in silence as he drank down every last drop. He was comforted by her presence alone. She was something real to hold on to. After setting the cup aside, he turned to her. “Thank you, Molly. For everything you’ve done for me.”_

_She nodded in response before changing the subject. “You should get some rest. Your brother texted, and you need to get up early. I’ve already taken the liberty of setting an alarm on your phone for you.”_

_“How did you know the passcode to my phone?” he wondered, knowing full well what this meant._

_“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Molly blushed furiously. “Mo for molybdenum, and Li for lithium. I was just trying to think the way you would, and your love of chemistry mixed with the fact I’m the last person even you would think of, I figured—“_

_“Nonsense,” Sherlock interrupted, clearly upset by what she had said. “You have never been the last person I think of. In fact, you are always the first person I wake up thinking about. Of course I’d never let anyone figure out that you are much too important to me, because otherwise, you’d be a target. I obviously succeeded in keeping you out of harm’s way if your life wasn’t threatened.”_

_“Sherlock, I—“_

_“And furthermore, I only recently realised the extent of my heart. My love for you runs bone deep, and shakes me to my very core. It aches me to even think about leaving you now.” He was surprised at himself for the confession he had made. He loved her. But, God, he did not want to leave her. This was a cruel fate, considering he didn’t even expect to make it back alive, but maybe that’s why he was being given the courage to say these words to her._

_Molly caressed his face with her hand, her eyes desperately searching his for truth. He looked at her like a man who was deeply in love, the yearning clear on his face. Sherlock knew what she must be sensing. She probably knew now more than ever that he didn’t want to leave. He knew she didn’t want him to either, but this was bigger than both of them. Opening her mouth to speak, Sherlock cut in once more, possibly out of fear of what she might say._

_“I need you to miss me, Molly. I don’t expect to survive this mission, but if I know you are missing me, it may give me just enough strength to make it through. It will give me something—someone—to hold onto.” His voice was broken, and unsure. It was clear that he was scared._

_“Sherlock Holmes, I will be right here waiting for you. I don’t care how long it takes.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, as her voice broke up with sobs. “I— I love you so. Very. Much. I will miss you every single day you are gone. Hell, I miss you already. All I ask is that you don’t take any unnecessary risks. Do what is needed, but do not chase after death in an attempt to escape it. There is no guarantee you’ll survive if you play games. Promise me.”_

_“I promise.” It was a notable fact that the soft baritone of his voice enveloped her with a comfort. He hoped she wouldn’t forget him._

* * *

_Sherlock awoke a full thirty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He took in the woman whose arms were locked around him, her head resting upon his chest where his heart beat for her. His hand was positioned at the small of her back, holding her in place. Her hair smelled of exotic fruits, whilst her skin smelled of lilac due to the body scrub she loved to use. Her breathing was steady as she slept comfortably, despite the fact she knew he’d be gone before she woke in the morning._

_“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered softly. “Never doubt that I will.” And though he knew it could possibly wake her, he re-positioned himself for his last selfish act. Leaning down ever so slowly, Sherlock pressed his lips to hers, eager to taste her before he had to leave. He was a masochist, but God, it was just what he needed, especially when he sensed that she was awake. She deepened the kiss, her hands in his hair, and her tongue slipping between his lips to meet with his. When he nuzzled his nose against hers, he felt the tear drops that had been sliding down her face._

_“Make good on that promise, Sherlock. I’m holding you to it.” Her dark eyes held his in place. “If Mycroft will allow it, I will send you a letter as often as he deems it safe. I know you won’t be able to write back, but I want you to have something whilst you’re out there, all alone.”_

_“Even if it’s only one, I shall cherish it always,” he replied, his thumb gently rubbing circles along her jawline. “Go back to sleep, my darling. If you’re awake when I leave, I fear that I may not be able to.”_

_Sherlock had successfully helped ease her back into a restful sleep, singing softly to her. He had turned off his alarm before it went off so as to not wake her. A town car had just pulled up outside of the building. Mycroft. He donned his coat, and slung his pack over his shoulder. With one last backward glance at the woman he loved, he stepped over the threshold. “Once more unto the breach.”_

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes, coming out of his trip down memory lane. He dug in his coat for the letter he had read several times over in the two months he had it. It was the only letter Molly had been able to send him, and though it had taken so long for him to receive one, it never wavered his hope that he would be coming home soon. Even Molly sensed it.

**Dearest Sherlock,**

**I hope this letter finds you in time. I have written several over the course of these arduous months, but I decided to send you the most recent one when your brother informed me that I had an opening. My love, I feel you close. I don’t know how, but I feel it deep within my bones that it won’t be much longer now. I can feel your heart beating through mine across countries. I haven’t the slightest idea where you are, and rightly so, but what I do know is you’re on your way back, steadily.**

**I miss you fiercely. Every night, I ache for you kiss, your touch. I dream of you often. Sometimes I am there with you, though I don’t know where that is. And sometimes, you are telling me to hold on a little longer; that you’ll be home before I know it. My heart calls out to you often. Do you feel it? Do you feel me?**

**You will be happy to hear that Mrs. Hudson didn’t have the heart to let out your flat. Everything has been left untouched, thought covered in thick layers of dust. I stop by to visit every couple of weeks or so to check in on her. I finally had the heart to step foot into 221B just last week. I know you aren’t dead, but there are times that I forget you’re alive, and it shatters my heart to pieces. I hate that I’ve forgotten so many small details about you, as I’m sure you have as well about me.**

**I have tried to keep myself as busy as possible to get through each day. And I know what you’re thinking…I promise I’m not working myself to death. I’ve taken up with a book club, and I often go to the pub with ~~Greg~~ Lestrade. One time, Anderson was there, sharing his crackpot theories. He annoys Lestrade, but I have to say that Anderson isn’t as dumb as you think. He’s quite sure that you faked your death. He’s right, of course, but a personal favorite of mine is where he thinks you snogged me after crashing back through a hospital window. I think he watches too many Bond movies. I have also been babysitting Meena’s two-year old daughter, Clarissa, as of late. She’s just separated from her husband. Anyways, this is probably boring you now. **

**I love you, my darling. Don’t ever forget that.**

**Forever yours,**

**Molly.**

Sherlock now stared at the small polaroid photo that had been enclosed within the letter. He didn’t know who took it, but it was a perfect candid of Molly smiling brightly at who he assumed was Meena’s daughter. It stirred feelings within him he never thought he possessed. The urge to start a family with Molly was brought to the surface every time he looked at the photo. Just as she did, he felt that he would, indeed, be finished with his mission in one piece. He was coming home very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I made each and every one of you cry as much as I did. That's how I know I've succeeded lol.


End file.
